What memory, what glad thing, can I take

from this past day, to morning and beyond?

Was there an object onto which my sight,

(on most days antic) fell and settled, still?

Was there a calm space, somewhere set apart,

where I could break away from seethe and stir?

Where did I find my peace? What did I do

that was amiss, that fell short of the mark?

Did I breathe? Did I unglue from devices?

Did I drink water, go for a short walk?

What were the consequences of my choices?

When summoned to praise beauty, did I balk

or hesitate, outfoxed by doubt and scruple?

Or did I act, dance, sing as I was able?